


To Better Places

by thelittlegreennotebook



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlegreennotebook/pseuds/thelittlegreennotebook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she had finally seen it — the pain that still radiated out from his body, the panic laced through his muscles at being surrounded by people whom he trusted so dearly and whose trust he had betrayed — she realized that maybe Starling wasn’t the home that Oliver had needed to come back to. </p><p>A fluffy, post-finale speculation fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Better Places

**Author's Note:**

> Presumably takes place after the segment with Porsches and sunsets. A speculative missing moment, if you will. Title credit goes to The Head and The Heart.

The dry, salty breeze tugs playfully at Felicity’s loose hair, and even though the pale, smoky sky edges out any pinpoint of sunlight, she knows it’s morning. The soft cotton of Oliver’s t-shirt flutters feather-light against her ribcage and she sighs contentedly, leaning her forearms against the worn, wooden railing that stretches around the small porch. Straight before her, a slate gray ocean extends infinitely in either direction along the sandy shore, and the waves create a gentle lull that matches the steady rhythm of her breathing.

It’s a testament to how twisted and mangled the last year has been, she thinks, that this moment — this perfect, peaceful moment — feels the most surreal. They’re only four days removed from Nanda Parbat, and Felicity feels as though she’s traveled worlds away. In a way, she has.

Her nerves, though, not so much, so she tries her best not to flinch as much as she does when she feels hands settle on her waist. Oliver’s touch is warm and familiar in a way nothing else has ever been, and he pauses understandingly to let her heartbeat relax. Then slowly, slowly, he slides his arms to bind around her stomach, and her tense muscles loosen completely of their own accord. She straightens, bringing her own hands up to cover Oliver’s forearms.

“You’re up,” she says, shrugging into his touch when he tickles her neck with his nose nuzzling into her hair.

“You weren’t in bed,” he murmurs in return, pressing a light kiss to the curve of her shoulder exposed by the wide neckline of his shirt.

“It’s beautiful here,” she says by way of explanation, leaning back into his chest and letting his arms tighten around her middle. “I’m glad we came.”

“Me, too,” he says earnestly, kissing the back of her head before resting his chin there contentedly.

It had taken her longer than it probably should have, upon their arrival back from Nanda Parbat, to notice that something was wrong. She was so caught up in the whirlwind of Oliver being _back_ — in the hellos and apologies and explanations — that she had barely registered the coil of tension in his shoulders, the anxious friction between his thumb and forefinger, the way his back was angled away from windows and unguarded exits at all times.

And when she had finally seen it — the pain that still radiated out from his body, the panic laced through his muscles at being surrounded by people whom he trusted so dearly and whose trust he had betrayed — she realized that maybe Starling wasn’t the home that Oliver had needed to come back to.

So regardless of how recent his return, regardless of the amends — the many amends, ones to her not excluded — that needed to be made, she had dropped the keys to her new car (retail therapy, whatever, sue her) in the palm of his hand and curled his fingers into a fist around them.

“Let’s get out of here,” she had told him, standing on the sidewalk at the base of Palmer Technologies on the cusp of a setting sun, and he had stared at her with wide, thankful eyes.

“Where?”

“Anywhere. I’ll go anywhere with you.”

He hadn’t needed much more of an answer than that, grasping her hand and tugging her along. He had paused only when his brow had bent together in search for her mini cooper, the curve deepening when she led him to the sleek silver Porsche.

“Felicity, how…”

She had merely raised an eyebrow at him, looking pointedly down at the keys in his hand, and then at the car, and then at him, her eyes answering his unfinished question: _does it matter?_

Oliver’s answer came as he swiftly, silently opened the passenger side door for her. She had tucked herself into the buttery leather seat, smiling as he leaned down to kiss her cheek and seeing a small smirk of his own as he pulled away.

For the first time in what felt like years, neither of them had been concerned with _how_ ’s or _what_ ’s or _when’_ s — in fact, they hadn’t been concerned at all. And it felt amazing — freeing. There had been nothing but open road and golden sky and the promise of whatever _forever_ they could get.

 _Forever_ landed them at the most breathtaking bed and breakfast Felicity had ever seen. It was tucked right against the edge of the ocean, hidden by dunes and jagged rocks and painted in chipped eggshell whites and faded baby blues.

“Oliver…” she had said breathlessly once he let her into their room, ignoring the expansive bed and simplistic décor as her bare feet automatically carried her to the wide French doors that framed the open water.

That had been the first and last view she had been able to glean before his hands were spinning her around and pulling her up flush against his body, where she had stayed for the rest of the night and well into the morning. Not that she was complaining.

But this morning, when she woke and padded back over to the porch like metal drawn to a magnet, was a truer escape than miles of road and a fancy car. It was solitude and silence and something warm curled right under her ribcage.

And if that was an escape, then this moment right now is something else entirely. This — this is finally, finally standing still after weeks and months and lifetimes of running, with his warmth at her back and the cool wind coasting along her smooth skin. This is letting her eyes drift shut without fear of the darkness. This is allowing herself feel everything and nothing, letting herself be _here_ — and nowhere else — with him, with her Oliver. This is what she needed — what they both needed — with a desperation as certain as humans need air.

This, Felicity thinks, is peace.

“You know,” he says quietly, his rough, familiar voice not breaking her quiet reverie in the slightest. “My family used to come here.”

She hums against him lightly in surprise, the gentle vibrations running through her and into him with soft acknowledgement. “Yeah?”

He nods against the crown of her head before dipping back into the junction between her neck and shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, his fingers running soft patterns against her ribcage through his t-shirt as hers do atop his forearms. “I remember we always had to lock the back doors as soon as we got in. Otherwise Thea would bolt past my parents and straight into the ocean at her first given chance.”

Felicity smirks. “Speedy.”

She feels his returning smile against her skin. “And that was before she was strong enough to pry open the windows,” he says with a certain degree of proud amusement. There’s a short beat of silence before he says, “But I’ve never been here with anyone else but her — but them.”

His fingers are trailing along the elastic line of her underwear now, but her heart stutters for an entirely unrelated reason.

“It’s perfect, Oliver,” she says sincerely, which is lamely understated but all she can manage when he makes her feel like she is the most precious thing in the world.

“My dad loved it, too” he says in agreement, his voice laced with a nostalgia that is more reverent than anything else. Because maybe he’s found a little bit of closure towards his father now, knowing what’s it like to realize, only when it seems to be too late, that he can be the man everyone knows him to be. “It was close enough in case he needed to get back to the company, but far enough away to…” he trails off searchingly, but Felicity thinks she might understand.

“Be somewhere else.”

He nods again, lips brushing against her skin and sending a spark down her spine with a sharp, wanting tug that she’s come to expect. “Exactly.”

They stand there for a few more hushed moments, staring out blissfully at the water that laps benevolently at the shore, before Felicity laces her fingers with his and squeezes gently. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, because as long as they’re sharing…

“Speaking of the company,” she says with false casualness, “I got it back.”

And, okay, maybe she could improve on the delivery a little. Yeah, all right, a _lot_.

His arms tense against her stomach, and he lifts his head just enough for his lips to leave her skin. “You what?”

She closes her eyes against the indecipherable emotion in his voice. “I, um…you know, I sort of…”

Her pause is too long, though, and suddenly she’s being spun around in his arms until the small of her back is pressed against the smooth railing. An involuntarily yelp escapes her lips.

“Felicity?”

She looks up at him cautiously to see a world of wonder in his blue eyes, accompanied by the admittance that, despite everything he’s been through, his family’s legacy means more to him than he ever thought it would. That maybe it’s good to keep what’s left of them close in a world where he often feels disconnected from everything else.

“Ray…” she starts, and his jaw tightens imperceptibly, as does his grip on her hips. She levels him with a pointed glare at _that_ little display of possessiveness but hurries forward regardless — because ex-boyfriends aside, this wasn’t how she planned on telling him. Come to think of it, a _plan_ probably would have been nice.

“ _Ray_ signed it over to me,” she tells him nervously, “right before we went to Nanda Parbat — the second time. Although I wasn’t informed until after we got back — did you know you should always read contracts before you sign them?” She returns his huff of disbelieving mirth with a small smile of her own before pressing onward. “Yeah, so that’s a thing. Which I _would_ have thought of, for the record, if I knew he ever planned on leaving. And something I would have told you earlier, obviously, except I didn’t really _know_. That he was leaving, I mean — or that I signed the contract, for that matter. Not to mention that you were kind of busy being all al Ghul-y and —”

He spreads his fingers across her waist, tugging her until their hips are flush together, and Felicity shuts up pretty fast at the probability that he is finally about to interrupt her.

“You got the company back?” he asks, and oh, boy, did she forget about this — this way he has of looking at her with hope and affection enough to make her legs quiver and her heart puddle at her feet. That look that always had her wondering, but never knowing for certain. The look that says _I love you, unconditional of anything and everything._

She bites her lip and nods. He looks like he’s about to kiss her (which, yeah, okay, she obviously made the right decision here — as good of a decision as she could have made without the express knowledge that she was making a decision at all, that is), but right as his lips brush against hers, he pulls back, eyebrows raised and lips quirked in amusement.

“Did you just say that Palmer’s leaving?” he asks, because of _course._ Felicity rolls her eyes, swatting at his chest and not really minding in the slightest when they stay anchored there against his bare skin.

“Please, Oliver, try to look a little less enthused,” she says dryly.

“I’m not _glad_ he’s leaving,” he says, but he’s grinning shamelessly as he leans down to press a kiss against one side of her jaw.

“No, of course not.”

“I’m not,” he says insistently, leaning around to kiss her other cheek before drifting lower to kiss along her collarbone. “I’m happy about the company.”

“Mhmm,” she hums out skeptically, sliding her fingers up his shoulders and into his hair and trying not to let her heart implode at the words _I’m happy_ leaving his lips for the first time since — since she’s known him, maybe.

“And the Porsche, obviously,” he says, trailing his lips up her neck and letting his tongue flick out teasingly against her pulse point.

“Obviously,” she says, using her hands in his hair to guide his head up impatiently. Their lips are wearing matching grins when they meet, and it only takes a few moments for his hands grip her thighs and lift to seat her on the railing, pulling a gasp from her lips.

“Do you know what you’re going to call it?” he asks against her lips, his subtlety failing him completely in the face of his excitement as his fingertips slip beneath the cotton of his shirt and ghost over her skin.

“The name never mattered to me,” she says breathlessly, urging him forward with her legs around his hips when he returns his attention to the soft skin of her jaw. “And it was yours to begin with.”

He pulls back, looking at her with a sober expression. “But it’s yours now.”

She tries not to arch into him, desperate for his touch, because seriously — does this conversation really need to happen _right this instant_?

“I know,” she says. Whines, maybe. He is clearly, frustratingly unaware of the things he’s doing to her. She runs her fingers along the waistband of his pajama pants and glances down in time to see his muscles jump beneath her touch. His hands tense lightly at her waist, and she smiles before lifting her gaze. “But I told you I would help you get it back; that hasn’t changed. So it’s yours, too. Ours,” she says with all the significance she can muster, and his eyes darken. “And, like I said, the name doesn’t matter to me. I can create my own software from inside.”

“But the name of the company?” he asks lowly, undeterred.

She swallows. “I was thinking…Queen Incorporated.”

He stares at her for a moment, just long enough for her to shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “You’re serious.”

“Yes,” she says exasperatedly, feeling an embarrassed flush of color heat her cheeks. “Of course I am, Oliver, why wouldn’t I be — “

He drowns out her words with a kiss, hungry and reaching as he presses into her, and Felicity automatically twines her arms around his neck because _finally_.

“You’re amazing,” he says once he breaks away.

“Yeah, okay, sure,” is her only answer, running her fingers over his shoulders restlessly. “Bed. Now, please.”

His response is to slip his hands underneath her thighs and pull so that her weight isn’t supported by anything but his arms and her legs around his torso.

“Better,” she whispers against his lips, and he lets out a laugh, uninhibited and real and _free_.

“God, I love you,” he tells her.

She smiles, wide and radiant, and takes just a second to bask in this moment. This moment where there is nothing but the two of them, together and happy and okay. It feels impossible and bittersweet and like a long, long time coming. But right now, with his hands on her skin and his laugh against her lips — right now, it also feels worth it. 


End file.
